Taking Sides
by Onari
Summary: Tag to 4.07 ITGPSM. After the way Sam had destroyed the demon…How could he look so vulnerable all of a sudden? Young and intense. Lost, needy. His Sammy. If only he was so sure that he was still someone's Dean. OneShot.


**H****ello all! I know, I know, I should be posting "Insomnia"'s next chapter. I promise I won't take much longer. In the meantime, I thought I'd give you this one. This was what I'd call an Impulsive Fanfic. I don't usually write tags. I mean, I do think about them, but then I trust other more talented writers to provide them. This one, I don't know. I watched the latest SPN a couple of nights ago and then the following morning I just had to get this little scene (a couple of scenes, to be specific) out of my system. So, well, I hope you like it! Not really my style, so don't be shy if you feel that you need to tell me that it sucks. I guess it's a poor attempt on my side to try and deal with the direction this season is headed.**

**Oh, the thing is, since it's an impulsive fanfic…I didn't really have it revised by anyone. Which, obviously it's pretty much suicidal and stupid of me, because it means it's going to be so full of language mistakes. And not only innocent slips, but full-fledged horrific non-native English catastrophes. I'm really sorry about that, I hope it doesn't ruin the story for you. Needlessly to say, if you find some really terrible fault and you want to let me know, I'll correct it right away...**

**Now let me ammend the paragraph above and thank Michèle for giving it a once over!! The story has been currently posted again with grammar corrections and all, yay!**

**I hope you enjoy it!**

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**Taking ****Sides**

It felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs. It felt like his heart had stopped. His legs went rubbery, his mind went numb. An odd feeling of detachment enveloped him and he swallowed to try to clear the sensation of being underwater, but, when he did, he found his throat had closed up and his eyes were burning with tears. He had no control over them. He had no control over anything anymore.

Before him, Sam was exorcising a first class demon with the power of his mind. A power born of the demon blood that ran through his veins; demon blood that had been poured into him over their mother's _life_. Despite Dean's plea, Sam was using the part of him that could pull them apart. The part of him that, according to the damn angels of the frigging _Lord_, would eventually force Dean to stop him or let them do it their way.

So he froze. Unable to do something other than stare at his little brother while his world came crushing down. Their eyes met and Dean felt Sam's desperation and pain. He felt his plea for forgiveness. It pulled a chord inside him that was instinctive and ran deeper than fear or anger and knew nothing of right and wrong. Still, he didn't move, not even when Sam's nose started to bleed and his free hand shot to his head in a clear gesture of sheer agony.

Something in Dean broke in that moment and he felt incredibly cold. What it was exactly, he didn't know: whether it was whatever innocence he might still have, his rediscovered faith or, more simply, hope. He just knew that he had lost it, _forever_, and its absence tightened his stomach more viciously that his scattered memories of Hell were able to.

Then Sam focused back on Samhain and after a few moments the demon fell and it all sort of…stilled. Sam lowered his trembling hand and swayed a bit, while he cradled his head and breathed hard. It was obvious that he was in pain and he definitely needed to sit down but for the longest of seconds he held his own and just looked at Dean with shiny eyes full of shame and dread. After the way he had destroyed the demon, with all that energy still roaring through his veins like fire…How could he look so vulnerable all of a sudden? Young and intense. Lost, needy. Pure Sam.

_His Sammy._

If only he could be so sure that he was still someone's Dean.

Thinking about that was more than Dean could stand; it hurt too much. So he looked down and broke the connection. It was the only way he could start breathing again and try to pull himself together. He had to react. Why? He wasn't so sure of that either, but he knew he needed to be in motion. Sometimes he felt like a damn shark: the moment he stopped moving, he would suffocate.

When Dean averted his eyes, Sam's expression crumbled and he stumbled back, until his back found the wall and he used the support to lower himself gently to the floor and sit with his head in his hands. His breathing was still labored and he was shaking all over. Dean felt nauseous when he wondered if it was because of exhaustion and shock or because of the rush of power that must still thrum through his body.

Without raising his eyes to find Sam's still searching ones, Dean advanced into the crypt and surveyed the place professionally to evaluate what traces there might be around that they had been there. It was something automatic, long-practiced and safe. It was then when he spotted Ruby's knife where it had fallen, _too_ far away from Sam. He hadn't failed to notice Sam's blooming bruises around his neck and it wasn't hard to guess what had happened. Sam had gone for the knife first, and then tried to physically overpower Samhain, but he wasn't strong enough.

Dean should have been there.

Then again, things would certainly be different if Dean hadn't left at all.

He went to pick up the knife and then retrieved the discarded sheath, which was a bit further. All the time, he was painfully aware of Sam's little sounds of distress behind him, but he couldn't bring himself to go to him yet. Both of them had already said everything there was to say. And Dean got it, he really did. Sam had been given a power he hadn't asked for and was trying to do the best he could with it. He could have been choked to death in that crypt —almost had, because he had listened to him—, but instead he had stopped a demon determined to bring chaos into the world and saved who knows how many people by doing so.

Dean wasn't scared or mad because of that. He was scared that one day he would look into his brother's eyes and he wouldn't look young, vulnerable and _Sammy_ anymore. He was scared that Castiel, that _John,_ would be right and he would end up losing his family forever.

And he was pissed at Sam, because every time he used his powers it was as if he was okay with all that. It felt like he wanted to leave him all over again.

Dean pocketed the knife and stepped around the teacher's dead body, Samhain's vessel, with a little grimace. Then swallowed and glanced at Sam, who had buried his head in his hands.

"I thought you said you didn't have headaches anymore."

He barely recognized his own voice. Bur apparently Sam did, because he gasped and looked up.

"Dean…"

Dean avoided his brother's eyes by focusing on the blood on his face. He reached out and wiped it roughly, and somehow gently, with is own sleeve.

"Dean-" Sam tried again.

"Can you walk?" Dean cut him off, unwilling to hear whatever Sam thought he could say.

His little brother set his jaw and lowered his gaze, defeated. His breathing had evened out a little and now he looked woozier than about to explode. Except for his head, Dean guessed. It was excruciating to see him like that, but this time Dean just lacked the strength to comfort him. He was so cold inside that he feared that if he tried to reach out he would freeze Sammy too.

"Yeah," he whispered, "Yeah, I can walk. Help me up."

Dean did as Sam asked and grabbed his arm to pull him to his feet without hesitation. His little brother grunted and scrunched his eyes shut, wavering as soon as he was vertical, and Dean quickly braced him and slipped Sam's arm around his shoulders to support him.

"Let's go."

Sam didn't protest —obviously, it was hard enough to keep himself from whimpering— and struggled to support as much of his own weight as possible, even as he leaned on Dean to walk out.

**oooooooooooooo0oooooooooooooo**

He had left the room as soon as Sam had started to rouse. Going out before that had been out of the question, no matter how badly he needed to clear his mind, because he couldn't leave his brother alone in his painkiller-induced sleep. However, he still didn't feel ready to face him. How was he going to talk to him when he couldn't even look him in the face? So he left a note on the bedside table, telling him to start packing while he went to grab some food.

He endded up at the park and, all of a sudden, Castiel was there talking about God, and orders and difficult decisions. Dean didn't know what to think about all of that, but he meant what he said when he told Castiel that he believed that Sam and he had done the right thing. He meant it when he said that he wouldn't hesitate to do it again. And damn whoever dared to deny that saving all those people wasn't meant to be, because 'meant to be' didn't mean shit to him.

When he went back to the motel room, Sam was sitting on his bed, with his back to the door. He didn't move when Dean entered, as if he hadn't even heard him, and part of Dean wanted to tell him off for being so distracted, but that would have been such a normal, big brother thing to do, that the words got caught in Dean's throat and he had to cough to clear his airways. He spotted Sam's duffle beside the bed, already packed, and he took his own to start shoving his belongings inside.

"Uriel dropped by." Sam said in an empty tone.

Dean tensed mid-movement and spared an anxious glance at Sam's back.

"_Your brother is headed down a dangerous road, Dean. And we're not sure where it leads. So stop it. Or we will."_

"Are you alright?" he asked, before being able to stop himself.

Sam let out a huffing sound, could have been a chuckle, and could have been a sob. Dean rose slowly from his crouching position next to his duffle bag.

"What did he say to you?"

"Nothing."

"Sam," Dean growled, in a warning tone.

"He said nothing."

Dean felt a wave of anger wash over him and clenched his fists to control it.

"Nothing?" He spat, "So, yeah, he just came round to say hi, because he seemed like such a nice dude?"

Dammit. If Castiel had known about Uriel's visit and had been trying to entertain him at the park while his fellow angel did something to Sam, God help him…

"Nothing that we didn't know already." Sam replied evenly

Dean released the breath he had been holding and felt the rush of hot adrenaline leaving his body. It felt good, honestly. The first sensation of warmth he had experienced since the night before.

"Is that so? Well, Uriel doesn't know crap anyway. He already proved that yesterday." Dean grumbled moodily.

Sam did that disturbing sound again, half snort half cry, and Dean shot him a worried glance. After spending the last few hours trying to avoid looking at Sam, he was suddenly uneasy that he couldn't see his brother's expression.

"Your head okay?" Dean asked.

Sam flinched a little, but nodded right away.

"Good," Dean muttered, then shook his head and went around the bed, "Because we should get go-"

And for the second time in the last twenty-four hours, Dean froze. Sam was sitting on the bed, shoulders hunched, and tears running freely down his cheeks. He had pulled the sleeve of his shirt up to bare his left arm and held Ruby's knife with the other. His eyes were fixed on the blade.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked cautiously.

Sam didn't raise his eyes. He only pursed his lips and shrugged, but his lower lip started to tremble harder and his fist tightened on the handle of the knife.

"Sam?" Dean pushed, barely keeping his rising panic in check, "Sammy, what's wrong?"

Sam shook his head but his grip on the blade didn't waver and Dean felt the sudden and powerful urge to find Uriel and kick his ass back to Heaven.

_S__on of a bitch._

His intense rage and protectiveness weren't exactly unexpected, but the certainty and immediateness with which he took sides, even after seeing Sam break his promise about his powers, even _without_ knowing what Uriel might have said or done exactly, was enlightening for Dean.

"Give me the knife," Dean ordered as he held out his hand.

"I tried to use it, you know," Sam murmured.

Dean frowned and stepped closer, without taking his eyes from the blade, which was too damn close to his little brother's tender flesh.

"With Samhain," Sam clarified, "I tried to use it and I almost sliced his arm. His flesh sizzled the second the blade touched him and he _knew_ that I could kill him with it, so he managed to throw it away. I couldn't reach it. I'm so sorry."

"It doesn't matter now, Sam. C'mon, give me the knife." Dean repeated.

He covered the few inches that still separated them and placed his hand over Sam's. He didn't try to force the knife out of his grip, because he feared that a struggle would only end up with the blade plunged into his brother's arm, but he held on, ready to stop Sam if he tried to hurt himself.

"Don't _you_ want to know too?" the younger Winchester asked thinly.

"Know what?" Dean asked, "Sam, I don't understand you."

"If my flesh will sizzle? If I'm already like them?"

Dean felt his breath catch and the hand he kept on Sam's wrist tightened as a reflex.

"W-What?"

"Because _I_ want to know. All of you are so sure…You must be right, uh? I mean, look at Ava, Jake and the rest. There's no reason why I should be stronger than them, is there?"

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but he couldn't find the words. Despite himself, the only image coming to his mind was that of Sam exorcising Samhain and Castiel's words. His father's words.

"_Tell me something, Dean. When your father gave you an order. Didn't you obey?"_

"Sam, this is crazy," he finally managed, "You don't have to prove _anything_, alright?"

"Really, Dean?" Sam retorted, "I don't?"

He tried to bring the blade closer to his skin but Dean immobilized his hand in sheer terror.

"Sam, stop it!" Dean exclaimed, "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"Then tell me you don't want to know." Sam dared him, fixing him with a despairing look.

Dean didn't meet his eyes, but remained focused on the knife. The image started to blur around the edges and he realized his own eyes had filled up and he hadn't even noticed. However, he didn't wipe his tears away. He couldn't spare a single movement for something so mundane as keep ing his mask on while his little brother held a deadly blade against himself.

"You're _not_ stabbing yourself, Sammy." Dean said shakily.

But the hand that restrained Sam's wrist tingled and his stomach had constricted into a painful knot.

"Just a cut, Dean. A little cut…And then Castiel and Uriel and-"

"To Hell with them!" Dean screamed, to make up in volume the agonizing lack of conviction in his tone.

"…And _you_ would be sure at last. You can't tell me you don't want to know!"

"No!" Dean finally cried, "I don't want to know! I don't want to know!"

It was always about knowing with Sam! Know, know, know, ask, ask, ask? Why couldn't he just…let stuff go? Just listen to _anyone_ for a change and stop making things so damn hard! No, he didn't want to know that Sam was changing. No, he didn't want to face the apocalypse without his brother by his side. No, just no!

"Too bad," Sam muttered, "Because I don't believe you."

On this note, he brought the blade against the inner side of his arm.

And Dean didn't stop him.

The blood started trickling down his arm as soon as the sharpened weapon penetrated the flesh. No sizzling occurred and no kind of energy rippled through his brother's body. Just blood. Hot. Red. Human. Dean stared at it, transfixed, and for a moment only Sam's quiet hiss of pain broke the silence. That was before his little brother started to sob brokenly, as Dean had _never_ heard him before. The horrible sound made Dean snap out of his trance and he felt sick to his stomach when he realized what he had done.

"Give it to me." He rasped roughly, grabbing the handle and forcefully extracting he knife from his little brother's trembling hand, "Let it go, Sam!"

Sam didn't fight him and Dean threw the knife away with far more strength than was necessary; then ran to the bathroom to retrieve a towel. He felt lightheaded, queasy, and his heart was hammering so hard against his chest he barely heard anything else. Except for Sam's crying, loud and inconsolable, as he applied pressure on the cut with the wet washcloth.

"It's alright, don't cry." He pleaded, because Sam trembled too much it was hard to stop the bleeding, "I got it, kiddo. Please don't cry…"

"Can't you look at me now?" Sam sobbed, "Will you look at me now?"

Indeed, Dean looked up, with his heart lodged in his throat and met his brother's devastated gaze for the first time in far too long.

"God, Sammy. I'm sorry," Dean whispered, "I'm so sorry."

He acted on instinct and pulled Sam into a hard embrace. At once, Sam was clutching at the back of his jacket as held him just as tight.

"Don't you give up on me, Dean," Sam begged miserably. A gasp in between wretched sobs, "Please…Please don't you give up too."

Dean closed his eyes. The guilt that devoured him in that moment could only be compared to the terrified desolation of his brother's grip. Because he had been the cause of it. He had forgotten that Sam and he were in the same boat and both were struggling and fumbling in the dark. Maybe Castiel was right, maybe Uriel and their father, and Gordon and all of them were. But Dean realized now that it didn't matter. He would fight for Sam, with Sam. Against anything or anyone. And if the worse were to happen and he had to take sides, well…

"Never, Sammy. I swear."

_Difficult decisions__?_

He was Sammy's Dean and it wouldn't be the first time he went to Hell.

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**THE END**


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